The One With the Gerbil in the Umbrella
by grannysknitting
Summary: Mycroft has a little altercation at Baker Street


Disclaimer – Characters and settings as depicted in the BBC series not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.

Warning – established relationship (John/Sherlock). Random cute animal.

**The One With the Gerbil in the Umbrella**

It was a perfectly lovely day. It was raining cats and dogs, with the occasional outbreak of sleet, he had some brainwork to do for a wonderfully tricky puzzle and John was home, which meant regular bouts of tea and hobnobs and sometimes petting. Houdini was in fine form, scampering around on Sherlock's couch and taking particular care to jump out at John now and then as he cleaned the flat.

Ever since the bath incident and the subsequent break-in, Houdini had taken to following John around on the days that they were all at home, as if checking to see that his protector was still there. Sherlock knew the feeling – having John around was Important and Good. Each time the gerbil pounced on John's fingers or popped up behind something the doctor was dusting he'd get a treat, a pat and a courier service to Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock was therefore most peeved when their domestic harmony – Sherlock and domestic harmony, who'd have thought it, certainly not the crowd from Uni, nor even his own mother – by the sound of the front door opening and the measured tread of Mycroft upon the stairs. The thinking genius growled impatiently and heaved himself onto his side, presenting his back to the room.

"Hello Mycroft," John called from the kitchen before Sherlock's brother could even make an attempt at propriety and knock on the sitting room door, "Tea?"

Houdini, Sherlock noted, made himself scarce, which was a new behaviour post-break-in. Sherlock disliked that his pet was scared when they had visitors now, though Houdini didn't hide from Mrs Hudson or Lestrade. It was another point of annoyance for an already unpleasant situation which made Sherlock even more resolved to ignore whatever his brother was here for.

Mycroft declined tea and greeted Sherlock in his usual annoying 'I am your elder brother' tone. Sherlock didn't even bother to huff at him, determined that he would ignore Mycroft until he went away or did something that would require immediate retaliation. John, who was over burdened with an abundance of good manners, sat down in his armchair and offered conversation to their guest, listening politely as Mycroft outlined the problem he had brought for Sherlock to solve.

Sherlock could just imagine the scene behind him, Mycroft sitting with his legs crossed and his umbrella leaning against the chair – he never waved it around when it was wet, as it would have gotten on the trip from the car to the front door – and John sitting opposite, feet flat on the floor and hands linked across his stomach.

The problem Mycroft was outlining _was_ an interesting one, involving diplomatic documents, scandal and International repercussions. If Sherlock pulled this one off it would be a real coup for his career and better yet, Mycroft would owe him a favour. John took the proffered information when Mycroft fobbed it onto him with good grace and Sherlock was pleased to note that his partner didn't promise to make Sherlock look at it or solve the crisis which only went to show that John knew him better than anyone.

"And how is your birthday present, Sherlock? Still alive, then?" the tone implied that Mycroft hadn't expected Houdini to survive the week, let alone the almost year that he'd been living in Baker Street.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sherlock sat up in a flash, rounding on his brother with a scowl.

"Merely that I expect that Dr Watson here has been taking good care of the little creature," Mycroft slanted a conspiratorial smile at John and seemed surprised at the glare the normally patient man was aiming his way.

"Actually Mycroft, I've taken very good care of it," Sherlock snarled, "And I don't appreciate you implying otherwise."

"And where is your pet at the moment?" Mycroft looked around, affecting nonchalance though Sherlock knew better. His brother was surprised by the vehemence of the response his question had gained from the both of them. John's arms were folded now, and he was frowning though he'd yet to speak up in Sherlock's defence. Not that he needed to at all, because Sherlock could defend himself, especially from Mycroft.

"He's very sensibly decided he doesn't want anything to do with you," Sherlock scathed, "And taken himself off."

"I see," Mycroft actually rolled his eyes in response to this, "I also see that you have yet to replace his habitat."

Sherlock saw no point in mentioning that they had moved the scarf Houdini had dragged into his habitat into the skull via the occipital foramen and that Houdini now slept in there quite happily. The whole flat was his habitat and John had agreed that as Houdini had really only used the original habitat for sleeping it was alright to relocate the gerbil to the skull. John had put a tray down in the kitchen with sawdust and a water/feeding station, so they didn't have to worry about Sherlock's pet turning the whole flat into a lavatory. As he was clearly a superior example of his breed, Houdini had kept his messes to the tray.

"That's hardly your concern, Mycroft," Sherlock dismissed his brother with a wave of the hand, "Goodbye."

Mycroft sighed that 'older brother put upon by younger brother' sigh that Sherlock had been hearing all his life and collected his umbrella. He bade John a rather pointed farewell and clipped down the stairs, tossing a reminded over his shoulder that Mummy would appreciate Sherlock's attendance at the annual Christmas ball. Sherlock snarled under his breath – he'd avoided the balls for years and wasn't about to start attending now – and went to the window to make sure Mycroft was gone before he started searching for Houdini. John came to join him at the window, one strong hand sweeping down Sherlock's back in the touch that could mean safety, affection or even sex depending on the situation. Sherlock liked that touch.

It was still raining lightly, though the sleet had stopped, so Mycroft put his umbrella up, pretending not to notice that they were watching. A moment later he uttered what could only be described as a girlish squeal as Houdini fell out of the umbrella and landed squarely in his hair, latching on in shock as Mycroft leapt about, much to the shock and confusion of his waiting driver.

John was downstairs in a flash and Sherlock doubled over, laughing hysterically as his brother spun and wailed. The doctor had him pinned in a moment and Houdini in the palm of his hand moments later. Sherlock's pet scampered up to John's shoulder, who let go of Mycroft and ducked back inside out of the drizzle. Sherlock slid to the floor with the force of his hilarity and John came and joined him. Houdini was transferred from John's shoulder to Sherlock's and then ran down his arm to rest on his knee, looking back at both men with bright eyes.

If Sherlock had been the sort of man given to fits of whimsy, he'd have said Houdini was laughing too.

**END**

AN – technically skulls can't be easily accessed through the eye sockets, but we'll go with that!


End file.
